


we're not at the end yet, but we already won

by notquiteaghost



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, irredeemable fluff, sappy boys are sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Clint are saps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're not at the end yet, but we already won

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of a bigger poly-vengers 'verse. (i have backstory for this, i'm just really reluctant to write it, because it's gonna be ridiculously complicated and time-consuming (because everything i write is ridiculously complicated and time-consuming), and i have commitment issues.) 
> 
> it's set a good few years after the avengers. everyone's living in the tower, but thor spends a significant portion of his time visiting jane. and, um, natasha's an art geek. not quite sure where i got that headcanon from, but yeah, best just to role with it.
> 
> unbeta-ed; feel free to point out any grammatical, spelling or continuity errors.
> 
> title's from 'where the lines overlap' by paramore.

Clint wakes up slowly, which is a sensation he’s still getting used to. He’s more accustomed to jolting awake at the sound of an alarm, an urgent shout or an approaching intruder. He’s not quite sure how to do this without an adrenaline rush, to be honest.

He wakes up slowly, is his point – some might say ‘at a leisurely pace’, even – and he wakes up and rolls over and comes face-to-face with Tony.

That, in itself, is neither a surprising or unlikely occurrence. He does, after all, sleep in the same bed as the man (roughly) four nights out of seven. But, usually, Tony’s asleep, or not long awake, or at least horizontal. He’s definitely usually horizontal.

He’s definitely not usually up and dressed and looking far too cheery to be uncaffeinated.

“Morning,” he says, as Clint rubs at his eyes and sits up, “It’s almost eleven, if you’re wondering.”

He hands Clint a mug of jet-black, steaming coffee. “I love you.” Clint says fervently, before downing the mug in one (a skill which took much practice), “...Wait, _eleven_? Weren't people leaving this morning?”

“Bruce was gone by seven.” Tony says, nodding, “We decided against waking you, however, because you’d only fallen asleep two hours before.” He pauses, and gives Clint a capital-L Look, “And Tasha and Steve left at eight. But, again, we didn’t wake you. Because, again, you didn’t get to sleep until _five_. What the _hell_ , Clint?”

Clint rubs a hand across his face and says, “Not like you can talk, Mr. I’m A Robot Who Doesn't Need Sleep,” possibly somewhat annoyed.

“I've gotten better, though.” Tony points out, and Clint really hates it when he’s reasonable, “Nine times out of ten, I fall asleep in a bed, and not in my workshop, as opposed to the previous, reverse situation.” He takes the mug off of Clint and sets it on the bedside table, freeing up Clint’s hands so he can lace their fingers together, “And so have you. You’ve done a lot better at not spending hours and hours and hours in the range instead of sleeping. Except last night, that is.”

Clint sighs, and pats the bed next to him with his free hand. It’s too early in the morning to have this conversation, so he’s gonna make damn sure it’s on his terms. And his terms involve cuddling.

Tony takes a seat, leaning his back against the headboard, and Clint takes the opportunity to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s arm snakes its way behind Clint, his hand curling around Clint’s hip, pulling him close. Clint sighs again, and says, “Sorry...”

“Don’t apologise, just tell me what’s up. And how I can fix it.” Tony says, dropping a kiss on the top of Clint’s head. Clint leans further into him in response.

“Just, everyone’s going places. And, I know I’d only be bored if I tagged along?” – Steve and Nat are doing a circuit of close-by art museums, and Bruce is in New Mexico, talking science with Jane, and Clint always finds watching _them_ be excited interesting, but actual science and art in large, highly concentrated quantities tends to send him straight to sleep – “But they’re still going places. Without me. And part of me still doesn’t like it, I guess.”

He stops talking, then. Because he _needs_ to stop, before he says something stupid, or something he’ll regret, or something Tony isn’t ready to hear yet, or some horrible combination of all three.

Tony lets out a quiet huff of air, “Okay. Three things, I have three things in response to that.” His fingers are stroking through Clint’s hair, now, and Clint’s pretty sure Tony hasn’t realised he’s doing it, but Clint isn’t going to point it out, in case he stops. “First thing is, they _are_ coming back. No matter where we go, why we go or what we might find when we get there, we will _always_ come back to you. Come _home_ to you.”

Clint makes a quiet noise. He’s not sure whether it’s a doubtful noise or an incredulous noise or a pleased noise, but it’s definitely a noise. Tony huffs a fond laugh at him, and Clint can feel him shaking his head in that how-did-I-find-you-what-is-my-life-Jesus-you’re-adorable way of his.

“Secondly, I’m still here. There are four of us; there will _always_ be someone still here. We’ll make sure of it. Okay? I promise. Cross my heart, the whole shebang.” Tony continues, softly, and Clint can picture the look on his face so easily; serious and sincere, to match his tone of voice. “And thirdly, we have the place to ourselves all damn day. We’re baking cookies. Cookies make everything better, you’re not allowed to be all sad and introspective in the face of homemade cookies, it’s just not right.”

And then Clint gives into the urge to twist round and kiss him, because he is the most ridiculous man Clint has ever met and it necessitates a reward (and there’s totally logic behind that; Bruce made a whole formula about it and everything).

Tony makes a (muffled) noise of surprise that some stupider people would call a squeak, but Clint, of course, knows better. Tony doesn’t squeak, and if that’s a lie and he actually _does_ squeak, then you certainly don’t point it out.

Clint breaks away, after a minute or two. Partly for air, and partly so he can beat Tony to it. “We’ll get to the cookies later, I promise. We have all day, don’t we?” He shuffles them around quickly, so Tony’s flat on his back and Clint’s leaning down above him, grinning unabashedly. “And we haven’t got the chance to make out properly in _weeks_. Don’t tell me you’d rather be dow-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Tony wraps a hand around his neck and presses their lips together. And, well. Tony’s a really good kisser. Clint isn’t about to pause to argue a point when he’s already won.


End file.
